


An Impossible Shape: the Triangular Geometry of Flawed Hearts

by alltoseek



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Asexual Sherlock, Asexuality, Found Poetry, M/M, Poetry, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Relationship Negotiation, Remix, Sestina, graphic image
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-21
Updated: 2014-06-21
Packaged: 2018-02-05 13:43:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1820452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alltoseek/pseuds/alltoseek
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>A triangle with shifting angles, its lines changing length as the energies between its three points waxed and waned… the three lines that made up the triangle, the vectors of energy all flowing down toward one point. One of the lines was weakened; it collapsed; the whole thing fell apart.</i> </p><p> </p><p>  <i>Lines, points, vectors and graphs… pages of notes with rough geometrical designs sketched out, notated in neat, minute handwriting… sketches and equations… numbers and angles and degrees, isosceles and scalene, sine and cosine and tangent… J=90, S=190, G=150. “It’s soothing to put it in those terms… it was at first. Until all the angles started going wrong. Now it’s nothing but a nightmare and a headache. It doesn’t work,” Sherlock said. “It’s an impossible shape.”</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [codswallop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/gifts).
  * Inspired by [On Lestrade's Flawed Heart, and Other Slightly Damaged Things](https://archiveofourown.org/works/123845) by [codswallop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop). 
  * Inspired by [Triangulations](https://archiveofourown.org/works/134666) by [codswallop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop). 
  * Inspired by [Applied Geometry](https://archiveofourown.org/works/277629) by [codswallop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/codswallop/pseuds/codswallop). 



> This graphic and verses will make much more sense if you are familiar with the series [Not Your Average Threesome 'Verse: John/Lestrade + Sherlock](http://archiveofourown.org/series/5799) by thirdbird, particularly the three fics listed above.
> 
> Beta'd by the awesome [unsentimentalf](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Unsentimentalf). 
> 
> Below the graphic is a representation of the text alone, for (somewhat) easier reading. The following chapters contain the sestina that appears on the left side of the graphic and the other verses that appear on the right and scattered about.

  
**part 1**  
 _A triangle with shifting angles, its lines changing length as the energies between its three points waxed_  
 _and waned… the three lines that made up the triangle, the vectors of energy all flowing down toward_  
 _one point. One of the lines was weakened; it collapsed; the whole thing fell apart._  


Lestrade came for a case, and stayed for John's tea.  
Listening to Lestrade's heart; John’s hands a warm touch.  
So many conversations they hadn’t yet had: “It's fine. I'm fine.”  
In the join between Sherlock and John is there space  
Lestrade wonders. Holmes hadn't a buggering _clue_ how  
impossible human hearts are. A crisp equation in his mind:  
 **1J + 1S → 1S      1J ↑**  
 **L 1* t1/2 = L0**  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1 \+ 1S**  
|  If doctors are attracted to damaged and broken things not fine,  
“You’ve got Lestrade for your sexual touch,”  
Sherlock says. “Have Lestrade round here.”  
John still in first flush, in love with the mad rush. How  
could Lestrade compete? It’s thrilling, caught up in the space  
of Sherlock’s mad wake; his extraordinary mind.  
  
---|---  
Lestrade the thundercloud: I don't need a bloody _mind-_  
er. John thinks otherwise, bringing him a steaming cup of tea.  
 _I meant him for you too_ , says Sherlock, as if he'd _created_ John, how  
he’d built him out of parts he'd scavenged from Bart's. “The touch  
of sex I don't need,” Sherlock adds. “I just want John in my space.”  
Lestrade tells John: “I’ve always known I’d have to share you, it’s fine.”  
 **1L + J 1S1 → 1LJ + J1S1**  
 **1L + (1J + 1S) → J 1L1 \+ (1J + 1S)**  
 **L(J + S) = L*J + (J + S)**  
|  Sherlock, carved from marble, cold eyes, cold mind  
calculating, “You don't have a private life. Not in my space.  
When’s Lestrade coming back round here?”  
“Come round to our place,” says John, “it'll be good, it'll be fine.  
To have Sherlock without involving his physical touch,  
Lestrade’s an extension of Sherlock's world, John’s way how.  
  
John’s silences held tones; he faded into furniture, quiet and brown and fine.  
Sherlock is the sun, all blinding and burning and brilliant mind.  
John stretched across the sofa, breathless and shaky; Lestrade undoing space  
between them. A whisper: wild-haired Sherlock, dull-eyed: “I need tea.”  
“Not parents, but a _five-year-old_ , coming in suddenly,” interrupting our touch.  
“I’ll get the tea,” John rises. “The state you’re in you’ll hardly know how.”  
|  John assures Lestrade: “In bed is not how  
I want to be with Sherlock.” In Lestrade’s mind  
a white-hot flash: Sherlock Holmes in bed here,  
marble and ink, hands and mouths and touch.  
No keeping Sherlock out of the bed space;  
he might as well been critiquing them: not at all fine.  
  
Lestrade fumes: “I’m saddled with Sherlock for eternity _how?_ ”  
 **(1S + 1L)t = ∞**  
“Sherlock is shamming,” he says to John. “ _You’ll_ be fine.”  
Sherlock sleeps: one thin hand clutching John’s wrist, a secure touch.  
John in the middle, Lestrade lies down too, here with Sherlock of one mind.  
Rising alone, John envisions shifting angles as he makes the tea.  
When they awake, a John-shaped no-man’s-land in the bed: empty space.  
|  “I hate dealing with him like this. It’s not fine.  
Sherlock doesn’t need me to coddle him here;  
He’s got John’s comforting touch.  
I’ve no time for his prima donna sham of mind.  
From the train wreck that is the how  
of Sherlock Holmes I’ve been making space.”  
  
  
_When you are done canoodling,_  
 _I have a box of ears_

_Human ears in salt,_  
 _Romance can wait._

NB: These four lines occur in two couplets along the right side of the graphic

**part 2**  
 _Lines, points, vectors and graphs… pages of notes with rough geometrical designs sketched out, notated_  
 _in neat, minute handwriting… sketches and equations… numbers and angles and degrees, isosceles_  
 _and scalene, sine and cosine and tangent… J=90, S=190, G=150. “It’s soothing to put it in those terms… it_  
 _was at first. Until all the angles started going wrong. Now it’s nothing but a nightmare and a headache. It_  
 _doesn’t work,” Sherlock said. “It’s an impossible shape.”_  


“John likes conflict in proximity, his space.  
He’s had trauma of all kinds, there and here;  
he doesn’t need you to tell him how.”  
 _John doesn’t want to be the broken one_ : “I’m fine.”  
“Caring for me is good for John. Take his mind  
off himself. He loathes a coddling touch.”  
  
---  
“Lestrade thinks you need space. Or we need space. Or he needs space.”  
Only John could take Sherlock’s intensity, and Lestrade had no idea how.  
“I’d stay even if you became a bloody florist. Can I make tea? I would like tea.”  
“Fine, yes, I’m fine,” John snaps. Lestrade: “You’re allowed not to be fine”  
“We're all in this relationship.” “ _You_ are not, Sherlock.” Not in John’s mind.  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1 \+ 1S ↑**  
You’ve a head of razor blades; you'll shred him; you'll lose him, with your sharp touch.  
|  “You have the best hands,” Sherlock arching into John’s touch.  
“Why is it a huge thing? I like you; you feel fine.”  
“You’re case-sexual.” “I hate _labels_ ,” Sherlock huffed. “Never _mind_.  
We do need Lestrade. With just us it gets too...” how  
to describe, a fluttery grasp at empty space.  
“Lestrade hates me like this; he won’t come here.”  
  
We're weapons, we three. When no one’s in danger, it’s hurtful, our touch.  
Sherlock burrows into John’s body, his hold tightening, “I don’t need space.”  
 **1J + 1S = 1JS**  
Was John falling apart; he couldn’t know while being paid so much _mind_.  
“Three-way!” Sherlock bursting in. “The perfect solution. That’s how.”  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1S1**  
I’m ridiculously jealous; I’m not even sure who _of_ \--but I’m fine. It’ll be fine.  
An odd normality: takeaway, arguing, wrestling for the remote. And tea.  
|  John says, “I just want you to _be here. He_ likes you here.”  
Sherlock’s all cool-skinned angles to the touch,  
yet still comforting to sleep beside, a filled space.  
John loves his city, loves his fucked-up _life_. It’s all fine.  
Sherlock’s head in Lestrade’s lap, feet in John’s, no mind  
for either of them; they fit somehow.  
  
Three weapon-people, a messy touch: angles at odds, so how:  
Lestrade’s silky slide in John’s space; Sherlock watching, no need for tea.  
John sees the others kiss, unstuck in mind. _Fuck that’s hot_. "Beautiful,” says Sherlock, “I’m fine.”  |  John comes with a damned _orchestra_ ; untangle him how.  
“I'm nothing but nerve endings and skin: don't touch.”  
says sullen Sherlock, plucking his violin fine,  
meditative arpeggios until John found rest from mind.  
From Sherlock’s hands Lestrade takes the violin, here  
lays his head in John’s lap, and wedges himself a space.  
  
  
“I'll be your dog, fine;  
domesticate me with touch.  
You wear your jumper here  
and blend in somehow.”

NB: These four lines are placed in the center of the graphic


	2. Sestina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sestina that forms the verses on the left side of the graphic, placed here by itself for ease of reading.

Lestrade came for a case, and stayed for John's tea.  
Listening to Lestrade's heart; John’s hands a warm touch.  
So many conversations they hadn’t yet had: “It's fine. I'm fine.”  
In the join between Sherlock and John is there space  
Lestrade wonders. Holmes hadn't a buggering clue how  
impossible human hearts are. A crisp equation in his mind:  
 **1J + 1S → 1S 1J ↑**  
 **L 1* t1/2 = L0**  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1 \+ 1S**  


Lestrade the thundercloud: I don't need a bloody _mind-_  
er. John thinks otherwise, bringing him a steaming cup of tea.  
 _I meant him for you too_ , says Sherlock, as if he'd _created_ John, how  
he’d built him out of parts he'd scavenged from Bart's. “The touch  
of sex I don't need,” Sherlock adds. “I just want John in my space.”  
Lestrade tells John: “I’ve always known I’d have to share you, it’s fine.”  
 **1L + J 1S1 → 1LJ + J1S1**  
 **1L + (1J + 1S) → J 1L1 \+ (1J + 1S)**  
 **L(J + S) = L*J + (J + S)**  


John’s silences held tones; he faded into furniture, quiet and brown and fine.  
Sherlock is the sun, all blinding and burning and brilliant mind.  
John stretched across the sofa, breathless and shaky; Lestrade undoing space  
between them. A whisper: wild-haired Sherlock, dull-eyed: “I need tea.”  
“Not parents, but a five-year-old, coming in suddenly,” interrupting our touch.  
“I’ll get the tea,” John rises. “The state you’re in you’ll hardly know how.”

Lestrade fumes: “I’m saddled with Sherlock for eternity _how?_ ”  
 **(1S + 1L)t = ∞**  
“Sherlock is shamming,” he says to John. “ _You’ll_ be fine.”  
Sherlock sleeps: one thin hand clutching John’s wrist, a secure touch.  
John in the middle, Lestrade lies down too, here with Sherlock of one mind.  
Rising alone, John envisions shifting angles as he makes the tea.  
When they awake, a John-shaped no-man’s-land in the bed: empty space.  


“Lestrade thinks you need space. Or we need space. Or he needs space.”  
Only John could take Sherlock’s intensity, and Lestrade had no idea how.  
“I’d stay even if you became a bloody florist. Can I make tea? I would like tea.”  
“Fine, yes, I’m fine,” John snaps. Lestrade: “You’re allowed not to be fine”  
“We're all in this relationship.” “ _You_ are not, Sherlock.” Not in John’s mind.  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1 \+ 1S ↑**  
You’ve a head of razor blades; you'll shred him; you'll lose him, with your sharp touch.  


We're weapons, we three. When no one’s in danger, it’s hurtful, our touch.  
Sherlock burrows into John’s body, his hold tightening, “I don’t need space.”  
 **1J + 1S = 1JS**  
Was John falling apart; he couldn’t know while being paid so much _mind_.  
“Three-way!” Sherlock bursting in. “The perfect solution. That’s how.”  
 **1J + 1L + 1S → J 1L1S1**  
I’m ridiculously jealous; I’m not even sure who _of_ \--but I’m fine. It’ll be fine.  
An odd normality: takeaway, arguing, wrestling for the remote. And tea.  


Three weapon-people, a messy touch: angles at odds, so how:  
Lestrade’s silky slide in John’s space; Sherlock watching, no need for tea.  
John sees the others kiss, unstuck in mind. _Fuck that’s hot_. "Beautiful,” says Sherlock, “I’m fine.”


	3. Other verses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The right-side verses and the other scattered verses from the graphic.

If doctors are attracted to damaged and broken things not fine,  
“You’ve got Lestrade for your sexual touch,”  
Sherlock says. “Have Lestrade round here.”  
John still in first flush, in love with the mad rush. How   
could Lestrade compete? It’s thrilling, caught up in the space  
of Sherlock’s mad wake; his extraordinary mind.

Sherlock, carved from marble, cold eyes, cold mind  
calculating, “You don't have a private life. Not in my space.  
When’s Lestrade coming back round here?”  
“Come round to our place,” says John, “it'll be good, it'll be fine.  
To have Sherlock without involving his physical touch,  
Lestrade’s an extension of Sherlock's world, John’s way how.

John assures Lestrade: “In bed is not how  
I want to be with Sherlock.” In Lestrade’s mind  
a white-hot flash: Sherlock Holmes in bed here,   
marble and ink, hands and mouths and touch.  
No keeping Sherlock out of the bed space;  
he might as well been critiquing them: not at all fine.

“I hate dealing with him like this. It’s not fine.  
Sherlock doesn’t need me to coddle him here;   
He’s got John’s comforting touch.  
I’ve no time for his prima donna sham of mind.   
From the train wreck that is the how  
of Sherlock Holmes I’ve been making space.”

“John likes conflict in proximity, his space.   
He’s had trauma of all kinds, there and here;   
he doesn’t need you to tell him how.”  
 _John doesn’t want to be the broken one_ : “I’m fine.”  
“Caring for me is good for John. Take his mind   
off himself. He loathes a coddling touch.” 

“You have the best hands,” Sherlock arching into John’s touch.   
“Why is it a huge thing? I like you; you feel fine.”  
“You’re case-sexual.” “I hate _labels_ ,” Sherlock huffed. “Never _mind_.  
We do need Lestrade. With just us it gets too...” how  
to describe, a fluttery grasp at empty space.  
“Lestrade hates me like this; he won’t come here.”

John says, “I just want you to _be here. He_ likes you here.”  
Sherlock’s all cool-skinned angles to the touch,  
yet still comforting to sleep beside, a filled space.  
John loves his city, loves his fucked-up _life_. It’s all fine.  
Sherlock’s head in Lestrade’s lap, feet in John’s, no mind   
for either of them; they fit somehow.

John comes with a damned _orchestra_ ; untangle him how.  
“I'm nothing but nerve endings and skin: don't touch.”  
says sullen Sherlock, plucking his violin fine,   
meditative arpeggios until John found rest from mind.  
From Sherlock’s hands Lestrade takes the violin, here  
lays his head in John’s lap, and wedges himself a space.

“I'll be your dog, fine;   
domesticate me with touch.   
You wear your jumper here   
and blend in somehow.”

_When you are done canoodling,_   
_I have a box of ears_

_Human ears in salt,_   
_Romance can wait._

**Author's Note:**

> [Written](http://sherlock-remix.livejournal.com/55468.html) for the [sherlock remix](http://sherlock-remix.livejournal.com) challenge round 4.
> 
> Many thanks and much love to the remix comm's mods, nox_candida and unovis, for assistance, feedback, and patience!


End file.
